Remember that first day of summer when you would hitch a ride to Wrightsville Beach on the trolley car? You sit back, let the salt air whip through your hair, swaying side to side, feeling the clicking of the tracks underneath. You catch a whiff of the ocean air as you cross Banks Channel. You pass dozens of modest beach cottages without seeing one Starbucks or Wings.

Squinting your eyes from the early morning sun coming across the Atlantic, you slowly ride south on the island to arrive at your final stop: that oasis, that big beautiful Wrightsville Beach mecca, THE LUMINA... where — last summer and the summers before — building sand castles, shooting at the arcade, bowling with friends and when you got too hot, you would dart out, jumping off the boardwalk and landing in the hot sand. You would run past other beach goers and plug into the cool surf, going all the way to the crystal sandy bottom, then surface to see the second floor of the Lumina... where hours later you would be slung up tight to a pretty brown-eyed dame, dancing to the live music of Benny Goodman. Who afterwards you would escort to your beach blanket, where you’d gaze cheek to cheek at the movie on the silver screen, playing over the beach as the moon reflected on crashing waves.